


How to Kill Time with Phillip J. Coulson

by fennecfawkes



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Banter, Even More Vague Saved by the Bell References, Getting Together, M/M, Pre-Canon, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Two Truths and A Lie, Vague BSG References
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 02:44:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1728209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fennecfawkes/pseuds/fennecfawkes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which working surveillance has an upside, and Phil and Clint start to learn quite a bit about each other. Not my characters, which I'm still pretty bitter about. Written for Fluffvengers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How to Kill Time with Phillip J. Coulson

“I’m bored.”

Phil smiles and shifts his position slightly. He and Barton are on opposite rooftops, poised to take down one or more of the men running the latest human trafficking ring to emerge in Quito. They can’t see each other, but they’ve been chatting on and off for the last three hours—private channel, since May’s sitting in a van up the road and Woo’s with the ring. “You’re always bored, Barton.”

“Yeah, but I’m especially bored right now. We’ve been up here too damn long, and honestly, sir, I thought this city would be more interesting in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry SHIELD didn’t prepare you for this level of crushing disappointment,” says Phil. “We could play a game, if you’d like.”

Barton snorts. “What kind of game can we play when we’re sitting on different roofs?”

“How about Two Truths and a Lie?”

“Don’t know if I know that one. Sounds like I have to trust you or something, though.”

“Barton, I’ve had your life in my hands at least seven times over the past two and a half years. I think you’ll be able to handle this.” He looks down at the alleyway. Still no sign of their guys. “OK, this is how it works: I’ll tell you three things, and you’ll tell me which one is a lie. It’s harder because you can’t see my face.”

“That doesn’t make it any harder, sir,” says Barton. “You have the world’s finest poker face.”

“Thanks. But even so, I’m sure I have tells.”

“If you did, I wouldn’t ... shit, is there another way to say ‘tell?’ Because it sounds really dumb to say I wouldn’t tell you your tells.”

Phil laughs. “Do you want me to start?”

“Do your worst.”

“Alright. First, as a child, I killed no less than twelve goldfish. Second, my first dog’s name was Roger, because I wouldn’t name it Steve—that seemed too obvious—but I still wanted it to be named after Captain America. And third, my first day at SHIELD Academy was the first time I engaged in hand to hand.”

“Two pet truths and one combat-related lie,” says Barton.

“Sorry, Barton, but you can’t read my voice for shit,” Phil says. “My first dog’s name was Goldie, because my sister named it. Roger was after that. I will admit to being an unwitting serial murderer of goldfish.”

“So you’d never fought anyone before?”

“Never. I was an expert in firearms, and infiltration and espionage, but I knew nothing about actual fighting.”

“That’s changed a hell of a lot in 12 years.” Phil tries to tamp down the thrill that goes through him at the thought of Barton knowing how long he’s been a SHIELD agent. “My turn, then?”

“Have at.”

“When I was in the circus, I had a pet rabbit named Number 6. My dad tried to name me after Evel Knievel but my mom wouldn’t let him. A bearded lady taught me to read.”

“Your mom did you a favor.” Phil pauses. “Why Number 6?”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got me.” Phil can hear that Barton’s smiling, even if he can’t see him. “I did borrow a lot of books from a bearded lady. And Number 6 was Alonzo the Magnificent’s sixth white rabbit. He let me take care of her. She lasted longer than any of the others.”

“Sometimes I think it’d be nice to have a pet,” says Phil.

“Yeah, but we’d both be neglectful pet owners, and I’d rather not have one than be that,” Barton says. “Think you could keep a fish alive now?”

“Definitely not. OK, three more: I like nearly all foods, but I find broccoli abhorrent. My sister once set me up with an ex-boyfriend of hers. And I own enough ties not to wear one twice in three weeks.”

There’s a pause, then Barton says, “I want to hear more about the second one.”

“So you think it’s true?”

“Yes, because you hate carrots, not broccoli, and I can totally believe the tie thing. I can’t remember seeing one twice, and we’ve been working together a lot longer than three weeks.”

“Maybe your eyes aren’t as sharp as you think.”

“About that ex-boyfriend of your sister’s...”

Phil sighs. “Fine. I suppose I brought it on myself, anyway.”

“You most definitely did.”

“I was still at West Point,” says Phil. “Carolyn was just out of school. She was working for an ad agency in Chicago at the time. He was the art director—a few years older, maybe 26 or 27? They went out for a while and he was fine, but she said there was no spark, so she sent him my way over Christmas vacation.” Phil takes a break from storytelling to look down at the alleyway. Nope, nothing. He continues, “We tried going out, but he wasn’t really my type, just a bit too straitlaced, and I already got enough of that at school.”

“Too straitlaced?” Barton snorts. “Some would say the same of you, sir.”

“Yes, but they’d be wrong. You know that. I hope.” Phil tries not to be hurt.

“I do. Appearances can be deceiving,” Barton says, and Phil feels fine again—happy, even, because this is the most he’s talked to Barton in a long time, and it’s something he tends to love doing. Not that Barton needs to know that.

Silence, and then: “Your sister ever set you up again?”

“Not with an ex, but she tries every once in a while,” says Phil. “There’s usually someone on her radar when she and her husband and my niece visit.”

“I didn’t know you had a niece.”

“Her name’s Kendra. She’s ten now, finally old enough to appreciate the city.”

“It’d be nice to have a niece or nephew,” Barton says, tone bordering on wistful. “I’ve never really interacted much with kids, except when I was one.”

“I don’t see her as much as I’d like,” says Phil. “It is nice, though. Your turn.”

“Let me think a second.” Phil hears Barton stretch and reposition his bow. “I have three tattoos. I’m afraid of needles. I’ve never had a boyfriend.”

“I’ve seen you flinch from needles. I don’t think you’ve dated anyone since we’ve met, but I don’t doubt you did before that. How many tattoos do you actually have?”

“Four,” says Barton. “Tattoo guns, I guess you call them, aren’t threatening in the same way needles are. And for the record, sir, I haven’t dated anyone since I joined SHIELD.”

“Noted,” Phil says, and he tries to keep his tone from wavering when he asks, “Lot of boyfriends, then?”

“Not very many,” says Barton. “Hard when I was hardly ever in the same place for very long. Before you found me, there was something semi-serious. At least, for him, it was. I don’t know. Never felt completely right. Not with anyone. Not yet, at least.”

Phil makes a "hm" noise he hopes gives nothing away. Internally, his stomach’s churning and all he wants to know is whether Barton believes something could feel right.

“Do you have any tattoos?” Barton asks.

“Is the game over?”

“I think we’ve done enough lying for the night.”

“I suppose that’s fair,” says Phil. “And yes. One. Just a Rangers logo over my left bicep.”

“Sounds pretty hot.”

Phil’s fairly sure he hasn’t swallowed his own tongue, but it’s a close one. “You really want to go down that road, Barton?”

“Sir, to recap, you’re the one who brought up romantic history, then asked if I’ve had a lot of boyfriends,” says Barton. “At some point, I stopped requesting you as handler because I knew you and Fury had a deal or something involving me always being under your care. I know what foods you hate, what movies you love, and how you prefer to sleep. We’re pretty much married already, Phil.” Phil’s breath catches, and he hopes he doesn’t sound too ... however he sounds. “And you’re the bravest guy I know, so the way you haven’t asked me out yet? Pretty ridiculous.”

“It’s not that I haven’t wanted to,” says Phil, adding, “Clint.”

“I like the sound of that,” Clint—yeah, that’s better, Phil thinks—says. “My name, that is. I do want more of an explanation, though.”

“It’s just, I’m not exactly the greatest boyfriend in the world,” says Phil. “I’m pretty into my job.”

“So am I.”

“I tend to hog the covers.”

“Used to it,” Clint says. “We’ve been in enough safehouse beds together for me to know that. Besides, I get warm.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” says Phil. “I’m not always emotionally available—”

“You think I am?”

“And in truth, I’m kind of boring.”

“Phil?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re putting your job before me, and you’ll listen, because you care about me, and I expect you to tell me the same when I’m doing it to you. You can have the covers, so long as you don’t mind me on you, too. We can deal with the emotional shit as it comes, because there’s going to be a lot of it, knowing me. And you are quite possibly the least boring person I have ever met.” Phil spots some movement out of the corner of his eye.

“Take the shot, Hawkeye.”

Clint does as he’s told. Phil takes down the other man, grateful for his silencer, custom-made, a birthday gift from Clint, come to think of it. Maybe they are already married. “Let’s go to ground.”

They meet on the street below, calling in May and their local contact, rendezvousing with Woo not long after. In less than an hour, they’re on the plane together, Clint’s hand lingering near Phil’s on the armrest but not quite touching it.

“We make a good team, you know,” Clint says softly.

“I’m supposed to take that to mean more than it would to Woo or May, right?”

Clint rolls his eyes. “Don’t sass me when I’m trying to talk about feelings.”

Phil smiles and reaches for Clint’s hand. Clint laces their fingers together.

“Anyway,” says Phil. “I agree. We do. And I would really like to kiss you right now, but Woo’s already got way too much of a shit-eating grin on his face, and I don’t want to give him more water cooler fodder.”

“You talk like you’re ... I don’t even know sometimes,” Clint says, shaking his head. “You could ask me over to your apartment, if you wanted. And we could make out till we fell asleep. And I could make you breakfast, so then you really, really won’t want to get rid of me.”

“It’s safe to say, Clint, that I have no desire to get rid of you,” says Phil, and Clint’s smile is—well, it’s something, something that makes Phil want to kiss him even more, but Woo’s still there and he still has a look on his face like it’s Christmas and he’s 7, and Phil really doesn’t want to fuel that fire.

It’s only a six-hour flight, and the debrief is postponed a day and a half because, in Fury’s words, “Three in the morning is too damn late and too damn early to debrief, and you all deserve to not do shit tomorrow.” Phil doesn’t look at May or Woo, just puts his hand on the small of Clint’s back.

“I’m only three blocks and an avenue away,” he says.

“I’ve been to your place.”

“I know. I meant it to be reassuring.”

“I’m guessing I’m not supposed to kiss you till we’re at your place.”

“Are you kidding?” Phil wishes it were a block and zero avenues instead as he looks over his shoulder. “For all I know, Woo is lurking in the shadows right behind us.”

“Doesn’t Woo have a wife?” asks Clint. “Seems like she might be more important than him having something to gossip about. And he already does, anyway.”

“Yes, Woo has a wife, but they don’t live far enough from me for me not to—wow, do I sound like this all the time?”

“Paranoid about getting caught with my tongue in your mouth?” Clint sounds amused. Phil turns to look at him. The streetlights are just bright enough for Phil to see Clint smiling broadly. “No, not always. But it’s pretty damn cute.”

“One more block,” says Phil. “I really don’t have much for you to make breakfast with, if you’re actually intending to make breakfast.”

“I can improvise. You have a grocery store, right?”

“I do.”

“Then we’ll be fine.”

“I don’t usually make food for myself.”

“I know,” Clint says. “When you ask me to move in with you, you’ll have to start eating the way I do when I have a fully stocked kitchen. Just fair warning there.”

Phil reaches for his keys and leads Clint up the walk. “You really like me, don’t you?” He doesn’t look at Clint as he opens the door and pulls Clint by the hand.

“Yeah,” says Clint. “Never really pegged you to be the insecure one in relationships.”

“You’re just...” They reach the landing in front of Phil’s apartment. He unlocks the door and they step inside together, Clint walking Phil backwards toward the bedroom. “Well, forward, for one thing.”

“You can’t tell me at least six months of the past 18 haven’t been foreplay,” says Clint, grinning as he gently pushes Phil onto the bed and climbs over him. “And I only said we’d make out. What else am I ‘just?’”

“You’re just kind of out of my league,” Phil says.

“That is some bullshit, Phil,” says Clint, shaking his head before leaning down and kissing Phil’s neck. “You’re out of my league, if anything.”

“No, that’s definitely not—” Phil feels Clint’s teeth scraping lightly across his collarbone through his shirt. “It might be easier for you if you took that off.” He moves his hands to the hem of Clint’s shirt. “And I can help you with this, if you’d like.”

“I would like.” Clint’s still grinning as he pulls off his shirt and begins unbuttoning Phil’s. “I think one of the hottest things about you is the way you always look perfectly put together, even after a 10-hour mission and a 6-hour flight.” He makes quick work of the buttons and leans back, pulling at Phil’s wrists. Phil gets the message and sits up just enough to take off his shirt. He lies back down, and Clint settles down on top of him. “I think you might be even hotter coming apart.”

“You could find out,” says Phil, and Clint moans softly before kissing Phil. Phil wonders idly if it’ll always feel like this, if every part of him will react to the pressure of Clint’s lips on his as he thoroughly explores Phil’s mouth with his tongue, and then he decides that he really doesn’t care. Then he’s not wondering about anything at all, because Clint’s hands are on him and his hands are on Clint’s chest and arms and back, and Clint really does feel as good as he looks, and they kiss and touch and rut against each other till they’re both spent and smiling stupidly at each other, lying side by side.

“OK, so that was maybe a little more than making out,” says Clint. “You got any washcloths in your bathroom?”

“Second drawer on the right.” Clint kisses him on the nose—“Shut up,” Clint warns him before he can say anything—and stands and stretches and makes his way to the bathroom, shucking his jeans as he goes. He comes back with two washcloths and hands one to Phil, who nods his thanks.

“Pajamas in the bottom drawer of the dresser,” says Phil, and Clint obediently pulls the drawer open, taking out two worn t-shirts and pairs of flannel pants.

“You’re shorter than I am,” Clint says.

“Well, you’ll just have to get your own pajamas and bring them here, won’t you?”

“See? You’re already asking me to move in, and I’ve only gotten you off one time.” Clint takes back the washcloth. “Laundry basket?”

“In the closet.”

“Extra toothbrush?”

“We can share.”

“You’re definitely asking me to move in.”

Phil flips Clint off before going to join him in the bathroom. They take turns with the toothbrush, which feels so intimate and _nice_ that Phil’s disgusted with his own happiness for a moment, then Clint shoos Phil out (“I am not watching you piss, and you are not watching me piss, because that’s just a step too far, even in the honeymoon phase”) and within five minutes, Clint’s curled around Phil’s back and they’re both halfway to sleep.

“You didn’t set an alarm, did you?” Clint mumbles into Phil’s neck.

“For once, no.”

“Maybe I am good for you.”

“You have no idea,” says Phil, and he snuggles closer into Clint’s warmth before drifting off to dreams that can’t even compare to what reality just became.


End file.
